


beautiful girl, beautiful beginning

by 8The_Great_Perhaps8



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Backstory, Character Study, Gen, Pre-Stream (Critical Role), Trans Female Character, WRITTEN PRE EPISODE 18, i would uhhhh die for jester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-23 14:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14334441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8The_Great_Perhaps8/pseuds/8The_Great_Perhaps8
Summary: Jester's story, from her beginning of her home to the end of her home.





	beautiful girl, beautiful beginning

She is born in a small room- less a room, even, more of a closet, and not even the grand closet that her mother usually uses. She is born in a broom closet, and the attending midwife is a young courtesan who only has one client yet. She stumbles out of the room as soon as the baby crowns, and the scent of brimstone fills the air as the babe cries and wails.

Her mother is left alone with the babe between her legs, and she is halfway asleep between the pain of birth and the root that she was given to chew to alleviate the pain of a birth coming to a girl a bit too young. It is a good twenty minutes before an attendant arrives.

“Oh, Ruby,” says the attendant, an older courtesan who is near retired from entertaining and is transitioning to the care of the home, “oh, but the devil is in your child.”

“He better not be,” Ruby says drowsily, “the bastard told me that I was the only one he came to.”

The older courtesan cuts the cord- and it is confirmed now that the babe is blue-skinned, not merely lacking for breath- and she takes note of the spiraling ram’s horns on the babe’s head, the tail that whips back and forth frantically, and even the less strange dark blue freckles and twisted toes.

“It’s a boy,” she announces. “Congratulations, Ruby.”

“Of course it’s a boy,” Ruby murmurs, still half-drunk on the birth root, “we’re in a fucking brothel.”

The older courtesan sighs, wipes off one afterbirth-stained hand on her apron, and reaches into Ruby’s mouth and fishes out the root. Ruby whines as the comfort leaves and the pain begins to return to her.

The attendant thrusts the babe at Ruby’s dark brown breast, where it quickly calms from its frantic cries of birth and begins to suckle.

“Come on out of here once you’ve lost all of that root,” the attendant says, not unkindly. “We’ve got to do something with your blue bloody devil-babe.”

The attendant leaves the closet, and, some fifteen minutes later, Ruby stumbles out, more stable, clutching the babe to her chest.

“What the hell am I meant to do with this thing?” she asks the courtesan, who has taken a bit of herb out of a small tin container.

“Well, you gave birth to it,” she says. “I imagine now you’re meant to take care of it, at this point. Didn’t you tell all of us that your little lover would be coming back to take you and his bastard away on a glorious journey?”

“And until then?” Ruby demands.

“Well,” says the courtesan, still chewing, “you better not let anybody see that thing. No one wants a courtesan who’s given birth.”

“And where the hell am I meant to put it?”

The courtesan shrugs. “You have a large closet, and a large armoire in your room. Put the baby in one and your clothes in another.”

The courtesan walks away while Ruby continues standing there, still splattered with afterbirth, as the babe begins to howl.

Ruby puts the supplies for the babe in her closet, along with the child itself. She waits to give it a name at first, waiting for her lover to return to her, but after six months she bitterly accepts the name that the other courtesans have been teasing her with, and calls the child Lavore.

The child, called Lavore for now, grows up somewhat satisfied in her little room. There’s a small window in it that gazes out over the beach, which is always covered with brightly colored people in brightly colored clothes, and Lavore is fascinated with them.

“Mommy,” she asks one day, when her mother is spending some time with her and reading her a book of stories about adventurers and dragon slayers, even though all she wants to hear are princess stories, “will I ever get to go out on the beach?”

“No, darling,” Ruby answers. “You’re a secret, remember. No one’s allowed to know about you but me and Lora and Amethyst.”

“I don’t want to be a secret,” the child says. “I want to be like anybody else.”

“Don’t be silly,” Ruby says, and plants a kiss on her child’s head. “You’re my baby boy, and you’re special to me, you don’t ever want to be like anyone else.”

The thing about the child is that the child does not feel any of the things that her mother seems to feel.

Her mother seems to feel that her child never wants to be seen by other people, that the child never wants to go outside, that the child is okay with only being known by her mother and Lora and the madame.

The child also doesn’t feel like she’s a boy. Ever since the child can remember, she’s wanted nothing more than to wear one of the beautiful, shimmery dresses that her mother has. She has always wanted to be lovely a beautiful, like the princesses in the stories that her mother only rarely reads to her.

And most times, she’s pretty sure that her mother doesn’t really like her.

Her mother says that she loves her, but nine times out of ten when she walks into her child’s room, she looks tired or disappointed or somehow upset to be there. But, whenever she listens to her mother when her mother is in her own room, she’s singing or laughing or sounding very, very happy.

And, sure, maybe the child always puts up a bucket of water right where she knows that her mother will step, or puts down one of her toy carriages for her mother to slip in, but that’s _funny_. She only ever plays funny jokes on anyone, and it’s not her problem that her mother doesn’t like them.

And, whenever the girl plays one of her jokes, she feels happy and warm inside, a feeling of approval that she’s never quite gotten from her mother.

The first time she escapes her room is when she is seven, and when she has finally finally taken just enough hairpins from her mother to be able to jimmy open the lock on her door.

When her bedroom door creaks open, she sees her mother’s room. It is strewn with vermilion and scarlet carpets and blankets. It is full of bright light, with a magnificent veranda and enormous glass doors, plus windows all scattered about the walls. The bed itself is magnificent, nearly as big as the child’s entire room.

She dashes out onto the veranda, and from this view she can see the ocean, too, not just the beach with all its people.

She dashes out of her mother’s room, and looks up and down the hallway excitedly. The world has never been so big to her as it is now, in this moment.

She spends the entire day dashing through the building, and the various activities behind the doors of the brothel pause, briefly, as they hear the sound of a child’s feet pittering through the hall.

The child delights in her freedom for the next ten hours, until she discovers the kitchens, a bag of sweets, and old Lora, who was supervising the cooking on that day.

Lora grabs the child’s wrist just as her fist has closed around the bag of sweets.

“Shouldn’t you be in your room, Lavore?” She asks, dragging her away from the kitchens without remembering to force her to relinquish the sweets. “Your mother must be worried sick.”

“She isn’t and you know it,” the child says, cheeks full of candy. “She probably hasn’t even noticed that I’ve been gone.”

“Nevertheless,” Lora says, “you know you aren’t allowed to leave your room, not ever.”

“I don’t care,” the child says. “The door was open, so I get to leave. And I saw the beach, and the whole house, and everything, so there anyway.”

“I don’t give a damn what you saw, I’m just bothered about if someone saw you and decided to ask you who your mother was! You know the rules.”

They arrive at Ruby’s door just then, and Lora raps smartly. Ruby responds quickly, which the child knows means that there’s no other men or women in her mother’s room.

“Lavore?” Ruby asks, sounding shocked. “You should be… “

“He should be, but he’s damned well not. You’ve got yourself a real troublemaker here, Ruby.”

“Oh, you only have half the idea that I do,” Ruby says, and tears the child away from Lora, so that the child drops her sweets. Ruby slams the door behind them, and marches the child back to her room. “You are going to stay right here until I decide you can be trusted for me to come in!”

The child stumbles into her room and turns around as the door slams.

“Well, maybe I don’t care!” She screams at the door. “Maybe I’d be stuck in here anyway, and maybe you’re just the worst and maybe I hate you!”

There’s laughter around her, suddenly, and she whips around and stares at her bed. There’s a person sitting there, wearing a dark green cloak that covers his eyes.

“Who are you?” She demands, fists on her hips. “This is _my_ room.”

The figure spreads his hands. “I know. I’m just a guest.”

“Like Mom’s guests?” The girl asks.

The figure laughs loudly, and the girl turns back to the door to make sure that her mother isn’t coming. “No, sweetie, not like your mother’s guests, and you already know why. I’m a very special guest here only for you.”

“Am I the only one that can hear you?”

“Yes,” says the figure. “It’s a special time for the two of us.”

“Do you know me?” The girl asks. There’s something familiar about the figure- his presence, his personality- that rings true and deep to her. “Have I known you before?”

“I do know you, sweetie, and maybe you’ve recognized my approval before, but you’ve never met me,” says the figure. “You can call me the Traveler.”

 _Traveler_ , the girl tries, and turns it over on her tongue a few times before she speaks aloud. “Traveler,” she finally says. “Do you know my name?”

“I know what your mother calls you,” says Traveler, “but I also know that you don’t believe that that’s your true name. I also know that you’re the only one who knows that you’re a girl.”

“Why am I special to you?” She asks.

“Whims,” says Traveler, shrugging. “I was in this part of the world, and, believe it or not, you are one of the few people around here who truly embodies my spirit.”

“What spirit?”

“The spirit of joy and trickery, little girl.”

The girl smiles proudly to herself. She isn’t certain who this Traveler is, but she’s nigh-certain that he’s some kind of deity, here to bless her life, like in her favorite princess story.

“Are you here to help me?” She asks.

“Not quite,” says Traveler. “I am here to tell you that I know you, and that I want you to be my follower.”

“What would that involve?” She asks, extremely curious.

“Nothing much different than from what you’ve been doing,” says Traveler. “You would just have to chat with me every now and again, so I can make sure that you are still dedicated to me.”

“Oh,” says the girl. “Okay, that sounds fine!”

The Traveler grins wide beneath his hood. “Welcome to my following, young child. You may request one gift in return.”

The girl sits down on her floor, cross-legged, and begins to think. She wonders if she should ask for a way out- but what if she can’t make her way back in? Maybe she should ask for a better mother- but, no matter whether she gets to leave her room or not, she still loves her mother.

“What should my name be?” She finally asks. “Because, since we both know it’s not Lavore, I want to know what my real name should be.”

The Traveler freezes, briefly, and then smiles wider and chuckles. “That,” he says, “is a delightfully excellent boon to request. Do you have any ideas?”

“Something cute,” she says immediately, and then considers. “Something that makes sense about me being your follower now, so something cute and maybe something a little silly.”

“Excellent guidelines, sweet girl,” says the Traveler, and he sits on her bed for a minute more and thinks.

“Jester,” he finally says, after a solid five minutes of thinking. “A court clown dedicated to jokes and drinks and making everyone around them happy, just like you do.”

The girl’s eyes grow wide. “I love it,” she exclaims. “Thank you, Traveler! Thank you so much!”

The Traveler laughs. “Of course,” he says. “It is the least I can do, for my very favorite follower.”

The Traveler fades away to nothingness then, leaving no trace that he was ever there.

From that day on, whenever her mother or Lora speak to her and call her Lavore, she insistently corrects them to Jester. She denies being her mother’s son, and insists that she is her daughter. She refuses to allow them to think that she is a boy.

Lora cottons on pretty quick, but her mother is slower. Her mother insists on Lavore, insists on _he_ , insists on son. She gets there eventually, but not until Jester is nearly thirteen.

Jester has improved her jokes and pranks at that point, and each time that one is effective, she feels an even greater amount of love and approval than she had before the Traveler arrived.

Every night, she kneels down at the side of her bed (like the good human princesses do in her stories) and tells the Traveler about her day, even if nothing special or important happened at all, and every time, she feels the Traveler hearing her, and feels him telling her that he loves her, his most favorite follower.

The Traveler only comes to her in person twice more while she lives with her mother- they are rare visits, and always begin, end, and middle with delight.

The last time is when she is nineteen, and she is nearly too big for her closet bedroom, and definitely too big to be locked away like this.

They talk, as they always do, and Jester excitedly tells him of how she had been able to spend an entire day out on the beach, wearing a light pink bathing suit and her mother hadn’t even noticed that she’d been gone.

The Traveler speaks of his travels, as always, and tells her that he loves her, and slyly mentions that, apparently, her mother is going to have a very special guest the next day.

And so, the next day, as soon as she hears her mother step out, chuckling, to get a little extra wine, Jester casts one of her special spells from the Traveler, and she steps out of her room, shaped like her mother, holding a play-bottle of wine.

“Ruby?” The man asks, sounding surprised, and wearing a girdle. “I thought you-”

“Magic,” Jester says, hoping that she’s doing a good impression of her mother. “I am a very magical woman.”

“You certainly are,” says the man, sounding appreciative. “Shall we get on with it? Unless you’d like your glass of wine first, of course.”

“No, no wine,” Jester says, placing the bottle down on her mother’s dresser. “But,” she says, dancing over to the balcony, “let’s us two take a look at the sky, shall we? It’s such a beautiful day.”

“Ruby-” the man begins, even as Jester is gazing out over the ocean. “Ruby, really, I’m in a girdle!”

“Don’t be silly,” Jester dismisses. “Your wife wears a girdle nearly every day, and she doesn’t much mind being seen wearing it in public.”

“But, Ruby-”

“Oh, come on,” Jester says. She steps up onto the stone fence on the balcony. “There’s hardly anyone here!”

“Ruby, be careful!” The man exclaims. He begins to drag himself out of the bed as Jester begins pinwheeling her arms and pretending to fall.

“Help!” She exclaims.

The man dashes out to the balcony, grabbing Jester’s hand. She allows this, and dances back around him, closing the glass doors behind her. Jester locks the doors so that she doesn’t have to hold them closed against him, although she’s fairly certain that she’s stronger than he is.

He’s out there for nearly twenty minutes before Ruby returns, at which point Jester drops her disguise.

“Jester?” Ruby asks, sounding confused.

“Ruby?” Asks the man, also sounding confused.

“Jester! Ruby!” Jester exclaims. “Hello!"

Ruby slams the glass doors open so hard that Jester is surprised that they don’t crack, and then ushers the man out of his girdle, into his clothes, and out the door.

“Do you know what you’ve just done?” Ruby hisses at Jester, as soon as the door is shut.

“Played a really funny joke on a really unfunny guy?” Jester guesses.

“Idiot!” Ruby exclaims. “That was a Lord! He is one of the most powerful men around!”

“But it was _funny_ ,” Jester protests. “He won’t mind, if it was funny!”

“I doubt that _he_ thought it was funny!” Ruby shouts. “Just- get back to your room until we know whether or not we know if he wants you killed!”

Jester allows her mother to push her back into her room, but she is fairly sure that she won’t die for a silly little joke.

That night, when she speaks to the Traveler, she can tell that he is so proud of her for her delightful prank.

She stays in her room for two weeks until, in the middle of one night, her mother bursts into her room and wakes her up.

“Get up,” Ruby shouts. “Get up, get up, you’ve got to get out of here. He wants you dead.”

“What? Who?” Jester says, absolutely disheveled and not realizing what’s happening.

“The Lord!” Ruby shouts. “He wants you executed for what you did, and the guards agreed. You have to get out of here. Get dressed, quickly, and get packed. You’re leaving tonight.”

“What?” Jester asks, again, but her mother has already left the room, for once leaving the door open.

Jester rolls out of bed, anyways, and gets dressed. She takes out one of her bags and begins filling it, emptying it, filling it, and then finally settles on the contents.

By the time that she’s stumbled out of her room, her mother is waiting for her with a large sack of gold.

“There’s a horse waiting for you in the stables. Her name is Princess. Ride her as far as you can, at least until you’re in the Empire. Find someone to help you, then. Your father, maybe, he’s probably in the Empire. Don’t come back for at least a year, alright?”

Jester accepts the bag, and looks at her mother, tears in her eyes. “I don’t want to go. I’m scared.”

“I know you are,” Ruby says. “I’m sorry. I’ve done you wrong the way I raised you. If I could do it again, I promise I would.” She presses a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, although she has to stand on tiptoes to do it now. “I love you, Jester, and I always have loved you, and I always will love you. You are my beloved daughter.”

“I love you too, Mama,” Jester says, and she hugs her mother close.

The hug only lasts a quick second before Ruby pushes Jester away. “I love you,” she says thickly. “Now go, as fast as you can.”

Jester dashes down to the ground floor of the brothel and out the door, into the stables. There, Lora is waiting, holding the reins to a piebald pony.

“Your tricks have finally gotten you in over your head, huh,” she says.

“Yeah,” Jester says, wiping at her eyes. “You’re right.”

“Well,” she says, passing the reins to Jester, “I sure do hope that you keep on keepin’ on. That lord needed somebody to tug the rug out from under him.”

“Love you, Lora,” Jester says. “Bye bye.”

Jester takes the pony and she rides, and she has no idea what to do.

The world has never been as big as it is at the moment that Jester runs away from her home.


End file.
